


Death By Pleasure

by gotnofucks



Category: Enola Holmes (2020)
Genre: Dark Sherlock Holmes, F/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:40:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29327148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotnofucks/pseuds/gotnofucks
Summary: Death by pleasure is not a thing. Is it?
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & Reader, Sherlock Holmes/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 54





	Death By Pleasure

You cried out under him, drool and snot sticking to the cloth stuffed inside your mouth, his hard length thrusting in and out of you so fast it made the whole bed shake. You tried to lose yourself in the never-ending blue of his eyes, tried to focus on them to escape from pain and pleasure that seemed to have become one.

“Oh no, none of that” Sherlock growled and pulled on your hair, mashing his pelvis to your clit, bringing you back to reality, back to him. The grunts that escaped him caught in your throat, choking pleasure spiking up your spine and you shook your head.

Your muffled protests did nothing to deter him, a nasty smirk spreading on his face as he felt your thighs beginning to tremble. At this point, you could not differentiate between pain and pleasure. Every brush of his knuckles along your nipples felt like a hot lick of ice and you keened and sobbed.

“You can give me another one, come on sweet girl, give it to me.” He ordered, his sweat slicked curls sticking to his forehead, kiss bruised lips peppering over your own and you clenched around him, holding his iron hard length in the velvet embrace of your heat and washing over him. Shards of electricity prickled all along your skin, crackling as you came down from another high. How many had it been yet?

Your skin was bathed in his sweat, his stench in your nose, the taste of his essence coating your tongue and the devious glint of his eyes engraved in your brain.

The mattress was soaked with the combination of his spent and yours, a continuous trickle from your cunt like a river from its origin. You didn’t realize he’d taken away the gag until you found yourself greedily gulping air, your neck wearing the marks of his fingers as a pet proudly dons its collar.

“Please.” You begged. His desire, his passion, his undeterred pace had you folding over and falling like a house of cards, and he was the wind. The wind never listens. It sweeps through, taking everything and leaving behind only ruins.

He was marking a cross across four lines, keeping a tally for how many times he’d had you shattering under him, a smug smile deepening the cleft on his chin. Your watery eyes met his, and he crawled back to you, holding you in his warmth like so many times before. His roughness made you crave this tenderness, regardless of how fleeting you know it is going to be.

“It’s only an experiment.” He whispers.


End file.
